


Jams Potter and The Bolt of Ages

by QueenofQuill



Series: James Potter Project [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Deatheaters, Gen, Marauders' Era, Mystery, Quest, The Greatest Harry Potter Prequel ever, not mine, seriously it is like reading the books for the the first time again
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-02-19 13:26:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2389922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenofQuill/pseuds/QueenofQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 1971.  With the Dark Lord Voldemort rising to power, James Potter's world is quickly becoming dangerous.  During their first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, James and his friends will become entangled in a race against the Dark Lord to find an ancient artifact said to be hidden within the castle -- an artifact which, in the wrong hands, could spell utter ruin for the civilized wizarding world.  Meet the marauders before they were the marauders, and join them as they make choices that will impact many others for years to come, including a small, lonely boy living in a cupboard beneath the stairs.</p>
<p>How did James meet Sirius, Remus and Peter?  What was Hogwarts like in the 1970s?  What mischief earned James his first detention?  Join James and the gang as they begin their journey as students, marauders, and best friends in James Potter and the Bolt of Ages. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>This is not mine, I couldn't write this if I tried. It belongs to a wonderful writer called L. T Wilt. I'm posting this for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Seer and Plot

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said in the summary, this is not mine. If you want to see the artwork and download the proper book please visit her website http://jamespotterproject.com/ 
> 
> I will be uploading this chapter by chapter but it is all finished and completed on the website if you can't wait ;)
> 
> Also, check out the trailer on youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mVw7KKhLxxU

December 31st, 1926

A light snow was just beginning to fall on the streets of London. It dusted rooftops and danced beneath street lamps, eventually coming to settle on empty sidewalks. It was still early evening, but the sounds of raucous New Year’s Eve celebrations were already drifting out of clubs and dance halls, as if in defiance to the cold silence outside.

On the outskirts of the city, far away from the blast of trumpets, the clinking of glasses, and the laughter of pretty girls, the same light snow fell on a courtyard in front of a tall, square building surrounded by high railings. Like the other buildings around it, its windows were dark and its facade grim, making it seem to exude unfriendliness. It might have even appeared unoccupied or derelict, if it weren’t for the sound of a woman’s agonized wails coming from within.

Inside the cellar, a lantern flared to life, illuminating the exhausted face of a sixteen year old girl with cropped black hair. As she shook out the match, her hand trembled. It wasn’t because she was tired (though she was). It wasn’t because of the chill in the cellar, either. It wasn’t even because that small, dark room below the kitchens had always made her feel uneasy (especially when she was sent down alone). No, the discomfort she was feeling was most certainly centered around the strange girl who had arrived at the orphanage that evening — the girl who was writhing on the bedstead behind her.

In the few weeks that Ruth had been working at Wool’s Orphanage, she had already seen a number of desperate, pregnant women stagger up the building’s front steps, but something about this girl — yes, she was only a girl, she couldn’t be much older than Ruth herself — was more unsettling than usual. Perhaps it had to do with her skeletal appearance, the odd way that her dull, sunken eyes seemed to stare in opposite directions. Then again, perhaps it was something else. Something unnamable and intangible, but certainly present, that hung around the girl like a heavy mist…

“Ruth, what are you waiting for? The baby’s coming now! Mind the girl’s head!”

Frances Busby, a formidable old woman, had been the matron at Wool’s for more than forty years. She had a tight, mean little mouth, wore a plain grey dress, and never seemed to have a problem informing Ruth of all of her shortcomings.

“You’re probably still sulking over that blasted party. I don’t want to hear another word about it, or about that boy, Roger Cowl.”

Ruth tried her best not to grimace as she assumed a position near the girl’s head. The boy’s name was Roger Cole, not Roger Cowl, and Ruth had fancied him for years. He was throwing a New Year’s Eve party at his flat that evening while his parents were on holiday. If Ruth had been free to go, she might have gotten the chance to talk to him, or even to dance with him, but instead here she was in a dark cellar, delivering another unfortunate child into the world. Plucking up her courage as best she could, because the thought of touching the girl at all seemed abhorrent, Ruth took the corner of the soiled sheet the girl lay on and used it to gingerly mop her sweaty brow.

Frances was by now, with all of her experience, very efficient at delivering babies. It wasn’t very long at all before the girl’s body went limp, and Frances straightened up to hand a newborn infant to Ruth. He was surprisingly light, and laid very still.

“He isn’t crying,” Ruth said.

“Is he breathing?” Frances asked without looking, wiping her hands on her dirty apron.

Ruth felt around the baby’s ribs, and held her ear near his mouth. He was breathing, but he was very cold. This worried her, because she had never before been handed a newborn child that was as cold as he was.

“Yes, I think so, but he’s freezing.”

Frances took off the apron and handed it to her.

“Wrap him in this, give him to his mother. Let her decide if she’s keeping him or not. I need to check on the other children. Albert has been having nightmares, and Lucy’s been sneaking out of bed...”

Frances abruptly disappeared up the creaking stairs, leaving Ruth alone with the strange girl, who was now quiet but for her shallow, raspy breathing. She had her dull eyes fixed on the dark ceiling, but it seemed that she wasn’t really looking at it at all.

Ruth wrapped the infant gently in the apron before cautiously approaching her.

“It’s a boy,” she said quietly, stopping a few feet away from the iron bedstead.

The girl said nothing, merely keeping her ill-aligned eyes on the ceiling. Ruth chanced to take a few steps closer.

“Would you like to hold him?”

For a long while the girl still did not reply. Finally, without taking her eyes off the ceiling, she spoke. Her voice was low, barely above a whisper.

“I hope… he looks like his papa.”

By the whiteness of her face, and the slight tremors rocking her small body, Ruth now realized that the girl was in no state to hold the baby.

“Are you all right, love? Do you need me to send for a doctor?”

The girl did not respond.

“I’ll go send for a doctor,” said Ruth, backing toward the stairs. “I’ll be right back.”

“Wait!”

The girl suddenly reached for the back of Ruth’s skirt, her eyes bulging frighteningly.

“Stay… please!”

Ruth hesitated. After all, what did she owe the girl? In that moment, she took in the girl’s stringy black hair, and the way it hung like rotting seaweed on either side of her gaunt, hollowed face. Where had the girl come from? What had she been through? 

Perhaps it was the way the girl was so desperate to connect to someone, anyone at all, but finally Ruth softened. She took a seat on the edge of the bedstead.

“I’m here. I’ll stay with you.”

The girl gasped a sigh of relief, and her vice-like grip loosened as she slumped back onto the pillow.

“He must be called Tom… after his father. Marvolo… after mine. Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

“Tom… Marvolo… Riddle,” repeated Ruth uncertainly. It sounded to her like a name that belonged in a circus, and she wondered for a moment if that was where the girl had come from.

“Yes…” breathed the girl. Her glassy gaze returned to the ceiling. A long silence passed before she spoke again.

“When I was a little girl, I used to dream about knowing my mother. She died when I was too small to remember her. Perhaps now my son will grow up, and someday he will dream about knowing me.”

A tear slid down her cheek. It carved a shining trail through the film of grime that covered her face.

“I was never a beautiful girl. I was never smart… but I loved someone. I’ve known what it is to live for someone else. Is that enough to say that my life was worth something?”

She looked then at Ruth with her dead, hollow eyes.

“I hope for him, for my little Tom… that he will go on to do great things. He will not be doomed to dwell in dark corners, as I have done for all of my life… If there is any power left in my blood, in my family’s blood… let it pass now to him. May it help him to grow strong…”

It felt in that moment that the room grew a little darker, as if the air itself contracted ever so slightly. The flame in the lantern sputtered and danced. When Ruth looked back to the girl, she was surprised to find that she had twisted, with her eyes facing the lantern. The weak flame reflected in them like a ghost. She uttered five more words, and her voice was colder than the chill outside.

“…may he never fear death.”

The girl’s eyes continued to stare, but after a few more beats of Ruth’s heart, something behind them slipped away, leaving them horribly empty. All that remained within were the reflected images of the dancing flame.

Ruth sat for a long moment, now feeling as empty as those wide, staring eyes. It wasn’t until the tiny creature in her arms made a small sound, something between a moan and a hiss, that she remembered the baby. She rose from the bed and took a few steps toward the light of the lantern on the table, rocking him in her arms as she went. As the light spilled across his small face, the boy opened his eyes, and Ruth was startled to see that they were calm, dark, and intelligent. Ruth touched the tip of her finger to his tiny hand.

“Hello, Tom.”

************

45 Years Later

“Turn her over.”

In response to the order, which seemed to have come from mid-air, a man in a hooded cloak and mask obediently entered a small ring of light in a dark, musty room. He dug the toe of his steel boot into the ribs of an ancient woman on the ground in the center, whose fragile frame was draped in tattered shawls. She rolled to face upwards, her bruised face stained from tears mixed with small rivulets of blood.

“I have little patience for disobedience,” continued the voice. “You can either tell me who you spoke of in the prophecy now, or you can tell me later, when your family is hanging before you, clawing their eyes from their skulls to escape the visions of pain and death I will inflict upon them…”

The old woman choked out a shuddering cough.

“I do not know,” she pleaded, her veined hands scraping against the dusty, rotting floorboards. “I have told you already, a true prophecy is not heard or sensed in any manner by the seer herself!”

Suddenly, the woman was yanked violently into the air, as if an invisible hand had clasped her around the neck, but the hand wasn’t invisible. It was white and bony, and the man it belonged to seemed to have materialized out of nowhere. He was tall, muscular, and strong, and had the look of someone who had been handsome once, but whose ugliness within had finally risen to the surface. His face was pale, his features waxy and distorted. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot, and his pupils were ringed with red.

“Who dares to thrice defy me! Who dares to stand in my way, me, after I have transcended so far beyond the boundaries of mortality? Who DARES!?”

“I can’t…”

The man tightened his grip around the seer’s neck, and for a few moments, she could do no more than gasp for breath. Then, just as it seemed she might be slipping away, he released her. She fell heavily to the ground on her back.

“Avada Kedavra!”

In a flash of blinding green light, the woman trembled no more. The others in the room dared not to breathe. There were many of them. Their numbers seemed to swell more and more each day. They clung to the shadowy corners of the room like spiders, as if the darkness might keep them safely out of the way of the one who led them – the one they both loved and feared. When the tension became nearly unbearable, one among them stepped forward to speak. He was not the tallest, and he was not the most imposing (in fact he was a bit round at his middle), but it was a move so bold that only someone of high rank would dare to do it.

“My lord,” he drawled unctuously, “was it entirely wise to silence her? No one else alive knows the prophecy.”

For a fleeting moment, the pale man’s eyes seemed to flash scarlet in the dim room.

“Malfoy, I always thought you were one of my most faithful Death Eaters.”

The servant seemed to shrink considerably.

“My lord?”

His master pressed his bare foot to the face of the dead seer, examining her empty, wide-eyed stare with no trace of pity.

“My dear Abraxas, before you challenge my logic, or my leadership, please be aware that you are as discardable to me as Madame Trelawney here.”

Malfoy melted back into the shadows without another word. The others watched with greedy satisfaction.

“It is no matter,” the man continued, stepping over Trelawney’s body. He addressed the room at large. “She was telling the truth. You see, I always know when I am being lied to…”

Some of the shapes around the room shifted uneasily.

“Everything will go as planned. If someone at Hogwarts, or anywhere else for that matter dares to interfere with our noble work, be assured that they will beg for death long before I graciously… provide it.”

The last two words hung in the musty air with terrible finality.

“My lord, will you personally retrieve the pieces?” asked another hooded figure.

His master stiffened with disdain.

“I would, if it weren’t for that interfering lover of Mudblood filth, Albus Dumbledore. I have others who will do my bidding, Death Eaters more faithful than even you, Grungbull. Servants who can effectively hide amongst the sniveling, scraping Muggle-lovers that teach at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

He crossed the room and blasted open the shutters of a window with a flourish of his twisted yew wand. Looking down over the crowded Muggle square below him, his face contorted with disgust.

“My plan is infallible.”

With those words, he lifted his long, twisted wand, and the broken body of the legendary seer rose from the floor behind him like a macabre puppet. With the slightest flick, he pitched it through the window. It spun in the air like a rag doll for a moment or two, then dropped from sight as it fell ten stories to the Muggle square below.

“Morsmordre!”

Above the square, an immense glowing skull appeared in green sparks, with a snake of thick smoke slithering grotesquely from its mouth. Before the screaming Muggles in the chaos below could even look up to the window from which the body had fallen, the man and his Death Eaters had vanished.


	2. The Wand Chooses the Wizard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His thoughts remained on the holly and phoenix tail wand. He wondered why it so curiously did nothing, what it was waiting for, and if its fate could possibly be related to his own.

A summer breeze ruffled the leaves of the oak trees lining a narrow country lane in a place called Godric’s Hollow. It rippled through the dark, unkempt hair of a bespectacled eleven-year-old boy who waited patiently on the front porch of a white cottage. He stared hard into the cloudless sky, his hands pressed to his brow to shade his hazel eyes from the bright morning sunlight.

Every morning for the past two weeks, he had taken up this spot on the porch, squinting for the slightest movement of wings in the summer sky. Part of him felt entirely sure that what he was waiting for was bound to arrive at any moment, but then again, another part of him wasn’t quite as sure. What if the letter never came? What if there was a mistake, and he was actually a Squib? With a lurch in the boy’s stomach, he imagined a letter in his father’s hands, regretfully informing him that his son possessed no magical ability, while his mother sobbed in the background. What could a Squib do within a world full of others possessing an ability that permeated every part of their existence — a power that he lacked?

At that moment, a dark blot appeared far off in the sky above Mrs. Bagshot’s house. The heart that was pounding against the boy’s ribs suddenly jumped to his throat. It was a post owl, and it was coming straight toward him. It grew larger and larger, until it was finally close enough to swoop down right over his head and drop a heavy envelope into his outstretched hands.

Mr. James Potter  
Number 11, Hartford Row  
Godric’s Hollow, South Glamorgan, Wales

Hands trembling, he tore the envelope open.  
HOGWARTS SCHOOL  
of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

\--------//--------

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,  
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.  
Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.  
Yours Sincerely,  
Minerva McGonagall Deputy Headmistress

Relief flooded James as he read the emerald green ink once, twice, then three times just to make sure that what he was reading was real and absolute — that he was, indeed, a wizard.

A hand landed softly on his shoulder, making him jump. In his concentration to read the letter and the supplies list, James did not see or hear the man, who looked so much like him, join him on the shady porch.

“Congratulations, James.” His warm smile emanated pride.

For a moment James couldn’t remember where to find his voice. His father had been so busy, leaving to get to the ministry before dawn and coming home late in the evening. He hadn't expected him to still be at home.

“Does this mean we can go to Diagon Alley?” he finally asked.

“You’ll need to ask your mother, but between you and me I don’t think it will be difficult to convince her…” He leaned in, adding conspiratorially, “the Wimbourne Wasp boys are doing a charity broom wash today to support of St. Mungos. Maybe give it a mention.”

With a wink, he ruffled James’s hair and started down the front steps. James followed

“Will you come if we wait until the weekend?”

“I wish I could.”

As his father turned, James saw the exhaustion on his face.

“Unfortunately, the Ministry needs all of us every day this week. That wizard we’ve been after has killed another victim. Aurors keep disappearing… they need support from our department.” He became suddenly tense. “Do me a favor James… please don’t let your mother know I told you about it.”

James knew better than to push the subject, but his curiosity got the better of him.

“What’s his name?”

For a moment, it looked as if his father might answer, but then he swallowed hard, adjusting the glasses on his long, thin nose.

“It’s a better idea not to talk about it,” he replied tersely, crossing the path to the narrow street. “I shouldn’t have even told you. Your mother would have my head for it.”

He hesitated with one hand on the gate, seeing the disappointment on James’s face.

“Don’t dwell on it, Hobs. Not today, of all days.”

“Hobs” was the nickname James’s father called him, after legendary Quidditch player Marek Hobson. It was one thing James felt he really had in common with his dad – their love of the wizarding sport.

“Congratulations on getting your letter, James. You should know we’re very proud of you.”

Before James could reply, he stepped outside the gate and disapparated with a faint snap. Staring after him, James still couldn’t help but be curious about the dark wizard. Then, he remembered the letter in his hand. With a wide grin, he sprinted inside.

The Potter’s kitchen was tight but cozy. The faint scent of sugar cookies always lingered in the air, mingled with the pungent scents of potions. James’s mother was at the counter reading the latest edition of Witch Weekly, her wand aimed lazily at the dishes doing themselves in the sink. She wore dark blue robes with a stained apron over top, and her dark hair was tied back in a messy knot. Nearby, a handsome German Shepherd was stretched out across the floor, lazily watching the backyard through the screen door for signs of garden gnomes.

“Mum!” James bolted down the hall, skidding to a halt in the small kitchen. “Mum! I got my letter from Hogwarts! Can we go to Diagon Alley?”

His mother dropped the magazine on the counter, looking every bit as proud as her husband had moments earlier.

“Is it that time already? Well Merlin,” she said, addressing the dog by the window, “now I guess we know what he’s been doing every morning for these past two weeks.”

“So, can we go?” James asked hopefully, opening the back door so that Merlin could go outside. Then, almost under his breath, he added, “I hear the Wimbourne Wasps are doing a charity broom wash for St. Mungos…”

The dishes doing themselves in the sink collapsed with a jarring crash.

“What’s that now?”

James shrugged, trying not to smirk.

“Just thought you’d like to know.”

“Or your father thought I would,” she said haughtily, untying her apron. “Well it just so happens, Mr. Potter, that I need to go to Diagon Alley for some horned slugs and flobberworm mucus to finish that relaxation draught for your father, not because I happen to fancy Ludo Bagman’s —”

James raised his eyebrows.

“Flying technique,” she finished delicately. She dropped her apron on the back of one of the chairs at the kitchen table. It was cluttered with older copies of Witch Weekly and coupon clippings for beetle eyes, eagle talons, and a mess of other ingredients listed in the Daily Prophet. On the newspaper’s cover was a black and white photograph of a sparkling green skull with a snake slithering from its mouth. Sensing James’s eyes on it, she turned it over at once.

“So what’s on the shopping list then?”

James unfolded the small piece of paper that accompanied his letter.

“Three sets of robes, a hat, a pair of protective gloves, a winter cloak, a wand, a cauldron, glass or crystal phials, a telescope, brass scales, and… an owl, cat, rat, or toad.”

“They still haven’t changed the first year supplies since I was a student at Hogwarts,” she said, rummaging through rows of multicolored bottles in the cabinet above the sink. “And by the way, nice try young man, but I know that list says you may bring an owl, cat, rat or toad, not that you must.”

“But Mum, don’t you think I’m old enough now for my own owl?”

“What’s wrong with Bard?”

James scowled. Bard was his father’s grouchy old long-eared owl, whose tufted ears, like huge furry eyebrows, always seemed to be pulled down in a permanent frown, and who, on more than one occasion, had nearly removed one of James’s fingers. If Bard was to carry letters between James and his parents for the duration of his stay at Hogwarts, then he would certainly be needing his new protective gloves.

“Nothing’s wrong with Bard,” James said quickly, throwing a cautious glance toward the dark corner where Bard slept during the day. He was unsettled to see that one of the owl’s big, ugly, yellow eyes was glaring in his direction. “I would just like to have an owl of my own someday, that’s all…”

“And perhaps someday you’ll have one,” said his mother, eventually finding a sack of pale green powder behind a large jar of Horklump juice, “but for now, you and Bard will just need to learn to get along.”

She poured a handful of the powder into James’s hand.

“Now here you go, make sure you speak clearly this time. I don’t want you to end up in Batty’s sitting room again. I’ll be right behind you, I just need to fetch the family broomsticks!”

She dashed from the room.

“Glad to see you’re supporting St. Mungos, Mum,” James mumbled to himself. Bard snapped his beak impatiently.

“I know, I know! I’m going!” James snapped, holding out the handful of Floo powder for him to see. “Maybe if you’re nice to me, I’ll get you some sugar mice…”

Bard shuffled his feathers self-importantly and turned to face the wall. After some consideration, he added a soft hoot.

“That’s what I thought,” said James, stuffing his letter and supplies list into his back pocket. A grin spread across his face. “You’d better beware though, if you’re nasty to me, I don’t care what Mum says… next time I’ll come home with a cat!”

Bard cast him an angry glower, but James wasn’t looking anymore. As he threw down the Floo powder down in the fireplace, he already felt his spirits lifting. He squeezed the letter in his pocket, just to make sure one more time that it was really there. It was his. When he stepped inside the fire, he felt a rush of excitement and warmth rise within him that had nothing to do with the emerald flames whisking him away to Diagon Alley. He was going to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to learn magic, just as his parents had – and he was not a Squib.

“Are you sure you know where you’re going?”

“Yes, Mum, I promise.”

James’s mother gave him a searching look before handing over a small but heavy sack of wizard money they had just collected from Gringotts, the wizarding bank.

“Then you be careful, and remember: no accepting spells or potions from strangers, no matter how nice they seem.”  
She gathered up their two family broomsticks.

“Oh, and you had better not spend those galleons on anything but what is on the list in your hand! If you come home with anything from Eeylops or Magical Menagerie, I don’t care if it’s an owl, rat, cat, bat, puffskein or house fly, I will send it straight back! And absolutely NO setting foot in Knockturn Alley!”

After one more warning glance, they finally separated, and James began to wind his way down the crowded cobbled street. He had never been allowed to explore Diagon Alley alone before, and there were quite a few places he wanted to see before he got down to his school shopping.

It wasn’t long before he handed over two silver sickles to a street vendor for a large black-licorice-and-blueberry ice cream. Beneath the shade of the many multicolored awnings, he slurped his ice cream and wandered down the long stretch of storefronts. Some had elaborate window displays (he paused for a long while in front of the Quidditch shop, where a new racing broom, the Wind Whistler 15 was displayed). Others appeared dark and dingy (the only hint that anything was going on inside one shop was a thick cloud of smelly smoke rolling from beneath the door crack). It was difficult to resist the temptation to spend any more of his school shopping money, especially after he spotted a pack of self-detonating stink pellets for only 4 bronze knuts, but after he finished his ice cream, James forced himself to unfold his school supply list.

First, he purchased a set of glass phials and a first year potion kit from the apothecary, which he couldn’t bear to be in for more than a few minutes because of the overwhelming fumes. Then, he bought a set of brass scales, dragon hide gloves, and a telescope from Wiseacre’s Wizarding Equipment. The stack of packages in James’s arms grew taller and taller, and by the time he purchased his large pewter cauldron from Potage’s Cauldron Shop, it was all he could do to stagger into the robe shop with a pile too high to see over. Thankfully, after he was fitted for his school uniforms, the shopkeeper, a kind old witch named Madam Malkin, placed a weight lifting charm on his purchases. When James left the shop, all he had to do was hold onto the strings of the brown paper packages like lumpy, misshapen balloons.

With his balloon packages in hand, James headed next for Flourish and Blotts Bookshop. When he entered, he was startled to find it stacked to the roof with books of every shape, size and color. There had to be thousands, if not millions of books crammed into almost every open space between the floor and the ceiling, which was shrouded in darkness far above. There were only a handful of narrow walkways between the shelves.

Afraid to venture any further, and afraid to release the strings of his packages for fear they would float off to the far away ceiling, James decided to wait for the shopkeeper near the counter. It was a few minutes before a brusque, harassed man materialized.

“Another one.”

He snatched the list from James’s free hand.

“Seems like there’s more of you every year… stay here. Do not move, do not touch anything.” The man shuffled off into the depths of the shop, leaving James alone at the counter again.

It was then that a snobby looking boy with sleek white-blonde hair strode into the shop. He was tall, probably in his sixth or seventh year at Hogwarts. He was followed by an older, more rotund version of himself with a pointed beard, who James could only assume was his father. James couldn’t help but stare at the two of them. They were clad in finely tailored black robes, with gleaming green embroidery on the chests and silver fastenings under their chins. They carried themselves like royalty, and looked down their noses at the dusty floor and countertops with obvious disdain.

The boy ran his finger along the counter and looked down at it as if it were something he might find on the bottom of his shoe.

“Disgusting.”

His father nodded in agreement.

“Quite right Lucius, nothing like Spine Binders in Knockturn Alley.” He sniffed with displeasure. “No help in sight. What is the world coming to, when the richest, purest-blooded family in all of Britain has to wait for service?”

James spoke before he could stop himself.

“The shopkeeper is helping me right now.”

The two men appeared taken aback. Neither seemed to have noticed James until that moment.

“Oh is he now?” the older of the two said silkily. “That can be remedied.”

He waved his slender black wand, and a smooth bell tone resounded throughout the cavernous space. Far off in the distance, at what could have been the back of the store, there was a loud thud. It sounded suspiciously to James like a pile of first year Hogwarts textbooks hitting the floor. The old shopkeeper came barreling back up to the counter, clutching at his side and panting for breath.

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy, sir,” he sputtered. “How can I be of service?”

“What about my books!” James said indignantly.

“Never you mind!” the shopkeeper hissed out of the corner of his mouth. “Wait your turn!”

Knowing there was nothing left to do but wait, James listened as Mr. Malfoy and Lucius drawled on about what which books they were looking for, and what condition they expected them to be in. The shopkeeper vanished into the depths of the shop once again, and James, realizing that he did not want to be left alone with the Malfoys, decided to risk venturing off on his own.

Flourish and Blotts, which was impressive enough from the front counter, was even larger than James had initially thought. There were sections on every imaginable subject, from Everyday Spells to Head-Shrinking. There were books that hummed, trembled, sang, and even tap danced on the shelf to get his attention.

Despite a book that sprouted an arm and dragged itself after him, pleading to be read, James was drawn to a section in a dark corner. The case looked quite neglected. It was draped in cobwebs, and every inch of it was blanketed in a thick layer of dust. 

The section title was engraved on a tarnished brass panel nailed to the top shelf.

Myth and Legende

James ran his fingers across the spines on the shelf, raising tiny clouds of dust. He read the titles as he went: Death Omens: What to do when the worst is coming. The Legend of the Peverell Brothers. Legacy of the Macedon King. The Lost Stones of Numenor.

“What part of do not touch anything was unclear to you?”

James nearly jumped out of his skin.

“I… I’m sorry,” he stammered.

The shopkeeper chewed his tongue impatiently for a moment, then waved him along.

“That section’s not for first year students. It’s best you forget anything you saw there.”

When they arrived at the front counter, he slammed a pile of books on the counter. They were new, but scuffed, as if they had been dropped on the floor.

“Your books,” he grunted.

“Er…thanks,” James said, handing over his money. He scooped the pile of books into his cauldron. “Who were those two men just now?”

The shopkeeper surveyed James with a calculating eye that reminded him a little too strongly of Bard.

“That was Mr. Abraxas Malfoy, one of the richest and most powerful men in the country. Remember Nobby Leach’s resignation? Couple years ago? Malfoy and some of his friends were behind it. Some say he was the brains of it. Never did sit well with them to have a Minister of Magic that was Muggle-born... That boy with him was his son, Lucius. Sixth year at Hogwarts this fall. Trust me, you would do well to avoid the both of them. Bad things tend to happen around the Malfoys.”

James felt his cheeks go hot. He had already managed to get on their bad side.

“What sorts of things?”

“Unless you want to find out for yourself, I suggest you stop asking questions.”

The shopkeeper fixed James with a stare then that made it clear the conversation was over. Hoping that Hogwarts was big enough that he would never see Lucius Malfoy again, James thanked the shopkeeper and slipped out through the door.

Once he was back outside in the sunny street, James felt much better. Upon checking his list, he saw that there was only one item left for him to buy: a wand. He had purposely left this for last, because there was something about buying a wand that was both wonderful and terrifying. In fact, some little part of him was still afraid that they might go through every wand in the store until the owner finally threw him out, telling him to face the fact that he was not a wizard. With that horrible thought refusing to go away, James made his way to a humble storefront beneath a fading, ancient looking sign.

OLLIVANDERS  
Makers of Magic Wands Since 382 B.C.

James stifled a cough as he entered the narrow, shabby room. There was already a wizard family speaking with the shop owner, but he was relieved to see that it wasn’t the Malfoys. Glad for the chance to rest his feet, he sank down on a chair near the window.

At the counter was a short, round-faced boy. He had blonde hair, a pointed nose, and watery eyes, and looked to be about James’s age. He was dancing anxiously from foot to foot, which at first gave James the impression that he had to go to the bathroom rather desperately, but it soon became clear that the boy was becoming distressed by the ordeal of finding a proper wand. His mother didn’t seem to notice at all. She had her hands full, attempting to control a spoiled looking little girl in the throes of a wild tantrum.

Mr. Ollivander handed the boy another wand.

It’s all right, it’s all right now young man, just give this one a wave!”

The old man’s words did not seem to encourage the scared-looking boy. His pudgy little hand was wavered so much, James wondered how he kept hold of the wand at all. His mother nodded impatiently at him, while trying to console the screaming girl.  
“I want an ice cream from Fortescue’s!” she wailed.

“And you’ll have one darling,” cooed the mother, “just after Petey finds himself a wand.”

“But he’s tried seventy-six already!” the girl sobbed. “We’re going to be here forever!”

The boy waved the wand feebly, and suddenly, the glass in the pane next to James shattered. He ducked and covered his head, fortunately avoiding injury from the falling shards.

“See! Seventy-seven!” the girl screeched.

Mr. Ollivander hastily took the wand away from the watery-eyed boy, who looked about ready to faint, and aimed his own at the broken window.

“Reparo,” he muttered. All of the glass flew back into place, and a moment later, it looked quite like it had before. He noticed James. “Oh, hello there, are you all right?”

James lowered his hands to see the old man gazing in his direction with eyes like wide, pale moons.

“Yes, I’m fine, thanks.”

“Good,” said the man, practically shouting to be heard over the squalling girl. She had just put on a particularly good burst of volume. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to wait until we find a wand for this young man.”

He handed another to the trembling boy.

“Chestnut, nine-and-a-quarter inches, brittle, with a dragon heartstring core. Maybe wave it a little gentler this time.”  
The boy gave the wand a small wave, and all at once, the room went entirely silent. The girl had gone inexplicably mute, although her mouth was still moving in what was clearly screaming.

“Well that’s much better!” breathed Mr. Ollivander. “I think this wand has chosen you, young man.”

While his mother paid for the wand, the boy approached James.

“Sorry about the racket.” He gestured at his sister, who was already beginning to recover from being muted. “Is it your first year at Hogwarts, too?”

James nodded.

“Yeah, my name is James. James Potter.” He extended his hand, which the boy shook with a slightly sweaty palm.  
“Petey – I mean, Peter – Pettigrew. Hey, where are your parents?”

James was slightly affronted. He certainly felt old enough to do his own shopping.

“My dad is at work, and my mother is looking at potion ingredients,” he said flatly, deciding it was better not to mention that she was probably getting a good eyeful of Ludo Bagman and the other members of the Wimbourne Wasps.

“Oh,” said Peter, now looking very impressed that James was shopping alone. “Which house are you hoping to get into?”

James did not hesitate with his answer. There were four houses at Hogwarts. Students were sorted into them upon arriving, based upon their strongest traits.

“Gryffindor,” he said quickly. Both of James’s parents had been Gryffindors, along with all of his family for as long back as he knew. Gryffindors were said to be brave above all else. As he thought about it, an entirely new unease slipped into his stomach. Would he be brave enough to be chosen for Gryffindor?

“Petey, time to go.”

Peter’s mother was already halfway out the door, with his little sister at her heels.

“I’ll see you at Hogwarts,” Peter said with a lame shrug. He hurried away to catch up to his family.

James watched them go, but then became aware of a strange pinprick feeling on his back. He turned to find Mr. Ollivander looking him over thoroughly with his wide, orb-like eyes.

“You must be James Potter,” he said finally.

“Yes, I am,” James said, nearing the high counter. It was still littered with boxes and wands from Peter. “How did you… Did you overhear me introducing myself to…?”

“No,” Mr. Ollivander replied matter-of-factly, stepping out to shake his hand. “I recognized your face. You have the look of your father, Benjamin, but with dark hair. You also have Stella’s smile. I seem to remember her wand was quite unusual, a core of hair taken from the tail of a centaur. Not typical for centaurs to give tail hairs for wandmaking.”

That was news to James. Before he had time to wonder or ask about it, Mr. Ollivander produced a long tape measure with silver markings.

“Which is your wand arm?”

“Er…”

“Hold them both up, let me see.”

Feeling foolish, James did so, and Mr. Ollivander seized each hand and stared hard. Finally detecting something that James certainly couldn’t, he glanced up with a bright gleam in his eyes.

“Left.”

“Left? But I’m right handed.”

“Left, Mr. Potter, left. Who knows why, these things have never been clear to those of us who study the art of wand-making, but I am sure of it. Your left hand is your wand hand.”

“How can you tell?” asked James.

“Trade secrets Mr. Potter, now hold out your arm.”

James obediently held out his left arm, and Mr. Ollivander began to measure him from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, and knee to armpit. As the wandmaker moved on to measure the back of his neck and the circumference around his head, James stared hard at his left palm. He certainly couldn’t see anything different about it.

Mr. Ollivander was nodding vaguely.

“Yes… yes… let me see…”

He left the tape to continue measuring on its own, and began to rummage behind the counter in the back room.

“We typically use only unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons in our wands here,” he called. “There are others here in this shop, like your mother’s, but, well, let’s just say they can be a bit temperamental, perhaps even volatile. Then again, some people prefer that in a wand.”

He emerged with an armload of boxes, which he deposited on the counter next to the pile Peter left behind.

“Now, let’s see, your father’s wand is holly, so it would not surprise me if you attracted one as well — oh, that’s enough, by the way.”

The measuring tape seemed to be having a fit, and was now tying itself in knots around James’s ankles. Mr. Ollivander waved his wand and it fell to the floor in a loose heap.

“Too many students in this week buying new wands, I daresay it’s feeling a bit overworked,” Mr. Ollivander said sadly. He removed a dark, handsome wand from a box in the pile and handed it to James. “Now, here’s a nice holly and phoenix tail model, eleven inches, nice and supple.”

Fearing that he might shatter the window like Peter had, James closed his eyes and waved the wand as gently as he could. There was no resounding crash. In fact, there wasn’t even so much as a bump or a pop. James opened his eyes. As far as he could tell, nothing had happened at all. The only thing that seemed to have changed was the expression on Mr. Ollivander’s face.

“That was the first time in all my years at this shop — and trust me, there have been many… that absolutely nothing happened when someone waved a wand.”

He peered curiously at James, which made James feel very uncomfortable indeed.

“So, does that mean I should buy it?” he asked hesitantly, wishing Mr. Ollivander would look away.

“Usually a wand will respond if provoked. Yes, I choose you, or yes, I’ll let you use me, though I’m not ready for a long term commitment. Maybe even no, put me down before I turn your blood to vinegar! The wand chooses the wizard, you see. Some of these reactions can be quite slight, almost impossible to detect for any but those with the trained hand and senses, but this is odd, odd indeed… In all of my years, I have never seen a wand fail to react…”

He took the wand back and observed it closely. James started to panic. Did this mean his horrible fears were coming true? That he wasn’t a wizard?

“I remember your brother,” Mr. Ollivander finally said. It was so absurd, James forgot his panic. He was about to respond that he didn’t have a brother at all, but then Mr. Ollivander spoke again, and it became clear that he was not speaking to James. He was speaking to the wand.

“Wayward, misguided…” Mr. Ollivander nodded, frowning. He paused for a moment, as if listening. “Patiently, I can see, but for what? For who?”

Then Mr. Ollivander looked sharply up at James, which caught him off guard. His gaze was hard, as if he were trying to work out a puzzle of some kind. Just when James thought he couldn’t take a second more of it, Mr. Ollivander swiftly packed the wand back into its box. He tucked the box deep into a dark alcove in the corner. He did not mention it again, and James knew better than to ask.

Each of the next few wands produced results when waved. After blowing up the register (resulting in a silver and gold downpour of sickles and galleons), vanishing Mr. Ollivander’s hair (which there wasn’t very much of to begin with), and turning the flowers on the counter into spiders the size of teacups (they escaped through the crack beneath the door), none of the wands seemed to be “choosing” him like Mr. Ollivander said they would. The pile of discarded wands on the counter continued to grow, and soon, it was almost the size of Peter’s.

Out of frustration, James waved the next wand Mr. Ollivander handed him much harder than he should have. With a bang, every box in the store flew off of shelves, out from cabinets, and from inside closets. They crashed to the floor and wands rolled everywhere. James braced himself for Mr. Ollivander to get angry, but then he saw that the old man wasn’t even looking at him.


	3. The Sorting Hat's Offer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “In addition,” continued Dumbledore, “As there is once again an opening for our Defense Against the Dark Arts teaching position, I would like to introduce Mr. Edrian Turnbill.”
> 
> A tall, handsome man with wavy brown hair that reached to his shoulders acknowledged the student body on Professor McGonagall’s right. He was surprisingly young. He looked like he might be in his mid to late twenties. His skin was deeply tanned, his chin was stubbled, and James even noticed a pair of worn out old hiking boots protruding from his chocolate colored robes beneath the table. As he held up his hand in greeting, his sleeve fell away to reveal a tattoo on his arm, but James couldn’t see what it was from where he was sitting.

“Wow…”

James had just passed through the barrier at platform nine and three-quarters, and was now standing on a wide train platform packed with wizarding families. Some were in utter chaos. Others were in the midst of tearful goodbyes. Owls hooted from cages, and cats chased rats through the tangle of legs. At the center of the scene, a handsome scarlet steam engine waited on the tracks near the platform, belching thick clouds of steam.

“Mark, I thought I told you to leave the Dungbombs at home!”

James quickly dodged out of the way to avoid the foul smelling, slightly smoking packets that an angry woman was summoning from her son’s pockets. He nearly stumbled into the middle of a small knot of older boys.

“Give your little brother one of these!”

One of them handed a younger boy what looked like an ordinary sweet. He popped it in his mouth, and at once, his earlobes began to grow. They stretched longer and longer, until they finally puddled on the floor. The older students roared with laughter.

Grinning, James stepped around the boy and his ear puddle. A little further down the platform, he spotted a family of three in well-tailored black robes. They stood out from the background of other wizard families, and their air of superiority briefly reminded him of the Malfoys. The stocky, dark haired mother was addressing her child, who James assumed must already be on the train.

“Write as soon as you know which house you’re sorted into!” she called, adjusting the small black cap on her head. Her scrawny dark-haired son, apparently too young to go to Hogwarts, sulked nearby. He shot an angry look at James for staring.

“Walburga, we already know he’s a born Slytherin,” said a handsome dark-haired man to her right. He patted his son on the head.

“Regulus, don’t look so forlorn. You’ll be at Hogwarts next year.”

“James? James!”

James tore his gaze away from the family.

“Yes?”

His own mother and father had only just caught up to him. They looked winded, but their smiles told him they understood exactly what he was feeling.

“Your trunk,” his mother said. “You need to take it to the baggage car.”

“Right…”

James seized the handle of his trunk and started dragging it through the crowd. He was careful not to get too close to the Slytherin family. While Gryffindor House accepted students whose strongest trait was bravery, Slytherin House was where those of ambition were sorted. There wasn’t a witch or wizard who went bad that wasn’t from there. Thinking he would rather be sorted to any other house, James hoisted his heavy trunk into the luggage compartment, and kicked it until it was most of the way in. Praying that nothing inside was broken, he found his way back to his parents.

“That hair of yours…” his mother said, trying to smooth it down. “It has a mind of its own that not even magic can tame.”

James smiled despite himself. He had always rather liked his unkempt hair. His father’s was exactly the same way, except it was a shade lighter. As his mother planted a soft goodbye kiss on his cheek, his father stepped back to look him over.

“For the past five generations, and probably even before that, our family have all been sorted into Gryffindor House, where dwell the brave at heart. We would be proud to see you become a Gryffindor too, but we want you to know that if the Sorting Hat puts you in another house, there’s nothing wrong with that. The hat will take your choices into account too, and what have I always told you about our choices James?”

“It’s our choices that define us, not our abilities.”

“That’s my boy.”

He pulled James into a hug, and then unexpectedly stooped down to be at his level.

“You know,” he said, and it was quieter so that it was only between the two of them, “these are things that my father said to me on the day that I left for Hogwarts. Maybe someday you can tell your son the same thing. And your son will tell his son, eh Hobs?”

James wanted to reply, but didn’t know what to say. Then the train whistle blew, startling all of them, and it robbed him of his chance. His mother threw her arms around him one last time.

“We love you, James. Now, go! You’re going to be late!”

After one last look, James tore himself away from the pair of them and climbed aboard the train, which was beginning to move slowly. Inside, the aisles were crowded with students waving goodbye to their families, so it took him a while to find space at a window and squeeze into it.

Quickly scanning the platform, he caught a fleeting glimpse of his mother’s and father’s proud faces. He was just barely able to wave back, but then the train turned a corner, and they disappeared from view.

The aisles began to empty. James wandered in and out of compartments for a long time until he finally found one that wasn’t full. There were only two other students inside it: a red-haired girl who was alone at the window, and a dark-haired boy sitting near the door. To James’s surprise, the boy looked familiar. He was the sulking son from the black-robed Slytherin family on the platform.

“Did you sneak on the train?” James asked, sinking down across from him.

The boy stared back at him quizzically.

“What?” he asked.

“I thought you were on the platform because you couldn’t come until next year,” James said.

For another few seconds the boy looked still looked very confused, but then a look of comprehension came over his face. He laughed, swiping his dark bangs out of his grey eyes to get a better look at James. Now James could see that he had made a mistake. This boy’s eyes were more mischievous, and more carefree than the eyes of the boy on the platform. He was also leaner, and more handsome than that boy.

“You must have seen my brother, Regulus,” the boy explained. He extended a hand around a sallow, hook-nosed boy that entered the compartment to sit with the girl by the window. “I’m Sirius Black. Are you a first year too?”

James shook the boy’s hand, which was not at all sweaty like Peter’s.

“Yeah. I’m James Potter.” They exchanged nervous smiles.

“So are you into Quidditch teams?” asked Sirius, leaning back to put his feet up on the seat. “I see you’ve got a Harpies shirt.”  
“I’ll support Holyhead Harpies until the day I die!” said James, pleased to find someone else interested in Quidditch.

“Holyhead Harpies? I heard about their defeat of the Heidelberg Harriers in that seven-day match almost twenty years ago. My old man swears he was there.”

“Wow, he’s lucky,” breathed James. “My parents never mentioned it, so I don’t think either of them was there. My dad was a beater on his house team though. Someday I want to play on the house team, but I hear first years never make it. What about you? Will you try out?”

Sirius let out a barking laugh.

“Quidditch isn’t my thing. Now if they had a stunt motorbike team at Hogwarts, I might be interested in trying out for that.”  
James was fascinated.

“Motorbikes? Aren’t those for Muggles?”

“Yeah, but they’re not bad at all. You should see the way my mother looks when I read motorbike magazines…” He trailed off with a small smile, as if reliving a pleasant memory. Just then, the stringy hook-nosed boy near the window spoke loudly.

“You’d better be in Slytherin,” he said to the girl across from him, who looked slightly flattered but confused.

“Slytherin?” she asked.

James looked around at the word.

“Who wants to be in Slytherin? I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?” he asked Sirius, who was still lounging in the seats opposite him.

“My whole family have been in Slytherin,” he said.

“Blimey,” said James, “and I thought you seemed all right!”

Sirius grinned.

“Maybe I’ll break the tradition. Where are you heading if you’ve got the choice?”

James lifted an invisible sword.

“Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart! Like my dad.”

The sallow-faced boy made a small, disparaging noise. He shot James a look of disgust. James burned with anger.

“Got a problem with that?”

“No,” said the boy, though his slight sneer said otherwise. “If you’d rather be brawny than brainy…”

“Where’re you hoping to go, seeing as you’re neither?” interjected Sirius.

James roared with laughter. The red-haired girl sat up, rather flushed, and looked from James to Sirius in dislike. James hadn’t noticed before that she was actually very pretty.

“Come on Severus, let’s find another compartment,” she said.

“Oooooo…”

James and Sirius imitated her lofty voice. Just as Severus was climbing over James’s outstretched legs, the train gave a sudden lurch, and he nearly tripped. He glared at James with fury before sweeping out of the compartment like a miniature bat.

“See ya, Snivellus!” Sirius called out the door after Severus’s trailing black robe bottoms. “Nice one, tripping him on the way out. He seems really eager to get into Slytherin… that can’t mean he’s up to any good.”

“Yeah…” James was still thinking about the red-haired girl. “She didn’t really look his type though, did she?”

“Well, she was definitely too pretty to be sitting with a creep like him,” Sirius replied, now stretching out into the space that had been occupied by Severus. “There must be something wrong with her though, if she prefers that little git for company.”

James forced a laugh. In truth, he was half wishing that he had introduced himself to the girl properly.

The train chugged along through the countryside. Soon, the afternoon light changed to brilliant red and gold, and then dimmed into a dark blue night. As they began to slow down, James and Sirius hurriedly changed into their school robes and scrambled to stuff the remaining pile of sweets, which Sirius had purchased from the trolley for them to share, into their pockets. Joining the crowd outside their compartment, they waited as they pulled into the station. Though he didn’t really know why he was doing it, James realized that he was looking for the red-haired girl. She was nowhere to be seen.

The train stopped and the doors opened, and they were forced along with the current until they eventually spilled out into the warm evening air on a narrow platform. A sign, painted in peeling green letters, hung overhead:

Welcome to Hogsmeade  
The only entirely wizarding village in Britain.

James strained his eyes to see into the distance. He could just make out the dim lights of a small village.

“Look,” he nudged Sirius, pointing.

Sirius squinted in the same direction.

“I hear the older students are allowed to go there on the weekends…”

Sirius might have kept talking, but James stopped hearing whatever he was saying, because there she was. She had only just stepped out of the passenger car and onto the platform, and the steam from the engine was rolling around her. It happened as if in slow motion. First she was reading the Hogsmeade sign with an expression of awed excitement, then she was pulled to the side of the train by Severus, the sallow hook-nosed boy. She beamed at him and said something, and he said something back, close to her ear. She laughed, her green eyes bright. Then, perhaps sensing something strange, she unexpectedly looked up, and her eyes met James’s.

A booming voice suddenly rang out over the crowd, startling everyone.

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years, over here!”

A man, almost twice as tall as a normal person and about three times as wide, stepped out of the steam issuing from the engine. His hands were the size of dustbins, and James thought he could fit Merlin into one of his massive shoes. He wore a patched moleskin coat with many bulging pockets, and at his heels came an enormous black boarhound. Some of the first years had fallen over in shock at the sound of his voice. The giant looked down at them with mild surprise.

“Oh, sorry abou’ that!”

He reached down with one hand and easily lifted a couple of them to their feet by the backs of their robes before he continued.

“I’m Hagrid, Keeper o’ Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts, and this here’s my pup, Fang.”

“That’s a puppy?!” Sirius muttered near James’s ear.

“The two of us are here ter take you firs’ years across the lake,” Hagrid said. “Bit of a tradition ‘round here.”

James noticed then that all of the older students had gone, and that he and the other first year students were alone with Hagrid. 

He wondered where they went.

“Now the path we’re goin’ down is a bit steep, so mind yer step, and don’t stray off inter the trees. There’s been talk abou’ a gang of hinkypunks luring people off and inter the bog...”

The first years exchanged confused but terrified glances while Hagrid scratched at his wild looking beard, looking thoughtful.

“Mm, I think tha’s abou’ it. We ready then? All righ’, follow me.”

He turned and began to make his way down the road behind the station, disappearing into the darkness beyond. At first, nobody seemed to want to go after him, but then Sirius shrugged and confidently followed, as if he did this sort of thing every evening. Reluctantly, everyone else fell into step behind him, with Fang bringing up the rear. James hurried to catch up, pushing through a few groups of giggling girls that were trying to catch Sirius’s eye to draw level with him.

“What’s a hinkypunk?” he whispered.

“No idea,” Sirius answered.

Fortunately, whatever a hinkypunk was, they never ran into one, but the path they traveled down was every bit as narrow and steep as Hagrid had warned. The group made very slow progress as a result. They kept having to stop to help someone who fell down, or to free someone who got hopelessly tangled up in the thick brambles around the path. Nobody spoke very much in between these events, so when Hagrid abruptly halted and broke the silence, it seemed abnormally loud.

“Yeh can normally see the castle from here. A bit cloudy this evenin’.”

The path had opened up, and they were now standing at the edge of a great, black lake. Waiting there for them were many small boats hung with softly glowing lanterns. Hagrid climbed into the largest one, which promptly sank low enough to threaten sinking, but it somehow miraculously stayed afloat.

Following his lead, everyone clambered into the boats after him. James and Sirius found one that still had room for two and climbed in.

“Oh, one o’ yeh needs to sit with Fang!” Hagrid called over his shoulder.

The boarhound came bounding down the path and performed a flying leap into the last boat, which had a very disgruntled looking pair of identical blonde girls sitting in it. One of them was holding a cat, and when Fang landed next to her, it screeched and leapt onto the girl’s head.

As their boat slid out into the dark water, James recognized the pointed nose and watery eyes of the other boy sitting with them.

“Peter?”

The boy jumped.

“Oh, James, right?” he asked.

“Yeah, this is Sirius.” James motioned to Sirius, who shot James an expression that clearly asked why he was hanging out with someone this uncool. “I met Peter in Diagon Alley, while I was buying my wand.”

“Charmed.” Sirius shook Peter’s hand. Judging by the look on Sirius’s face, it was probably sweaty again.

Soon, the dim lights of Hogsmeade disappeared into the deepening night, and the only sources of light were the lanterns, whose ghostly reflections swam on the smooth black surface of the lake. Peter kept stealing glances over the sides of the boat, as if worried that a giant monster were about to pop out at any moment. Sirius lounged back in his characteristic way, letting his fingers trail lazily in the dark water. James, however, was straining to see as far off into the distance as possible. He yearned for his first glimpse of Hogwarts, his home for the next ten months.

As if obeying his will, a gentle breeze picked up, and the clouds obscuring the crescent moon parted, spilling moonlight down upon a brilliant castle on a cliff. It was much closer than James thought it would be. Other students pointed and spoke in hushed voices, as if hesitant to speak out loud and break the noiselessness of their journey across the lake. As they drew closer, the castle grew larger and larger, and soon everyone was craning their neck to keep it in view.

“Heads down!” barked Hagrid from the front.

They passed through a curtain of ivy in the cliff face, and then they were rushing through a dark tunnel. Soon, the bottoms of the boats scraped on gravel. They had arrived at a small dock below the cliffs. As students began to pile out of the boats, there was a small splash behind James. He turned to look, and thought he saw a huge, ghostly shape just below the surface of the water glide away. Deciding he must have imagined it, he hurried to follow Sirius and Peter up through a tunnel of rough steps, which eventually led out onto the smooth, damp grass that lay just below the shadow of the castle.

Waiting inside the Entrance Hall was one of the most severe looking women James had ever seen. She wasn’t particularly old, but her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and her sharp, dark eyes took in the timid first years from behind small square glasses. If there had been a ruler in her hand, he might have worried about getting his wrist slapped.

“My name is Minerva McGonagall,” she said sharply. “I will be your transfiguration teacher for this school year. I am also the head of Gryffindor House. In a moment, you will follow me into the Great Hall for the Sorting Ceremony. We have four houses here at Hogwarts: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. While you are here, your house will be like your family. Your triumphs will result in the awarding of house points, any rule breaking, and you will lose house points.”

Sirius smirked at James.

“Now,” she continued, though James thought she might have noticed the look he and Sirius had just exchanged, “if you will follow me, it is time for the Sorting.”

Two wide double doors behind her opened, and she led the group into the room beyond. It was splendid, with thousands of candles floating in mid-air. Soft grey clouds rolled gently across a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. Four long tables filled the room, and the older students were already seated there, looking very hungry. At the front of the room, there was a fifth table, where the teachers were sitting. In the center sat a very old looking man with a long white beard. His brilliant blue eyes twinkled behind a pair of half-moon spectacles perched on a crooked nose.

Albus Dumbledore — the headmaster. He was a legend. Everyone knew about his defeat of the dark wizard, Grindelwald. He lived in James’s own village, Godric’s Hollow, and though James frequently passed the hulking, forbidding shape that was Dumbledore Manor, he had never seen the man that dwelled in it before.

Distracted, James nearly walked into the girl in front of him. Professor McGonagall was now ushering them into the space between the house tables and staff table. Once they were in place, she brought out a four-legged stool, and what looked like a wadded up bundle of brown rags. She produced a long piece of parchment from within her robes.

“Avery, William!”

The Sorting had begun. A boy with a pinched face stumbled forward and sat upon the stool. Professor McGonagall dropped the bundle of rags on his head, and James realized that it was actually a beat up old wizard’s hat. Before he even had time to wonder what it would do, a rip in the front opened, and it bellowed,

“SLYTHERIN!”

The table to the far right burst out into applause. Avery handed the Sorting Hat back to Professor McGonagall, and then seated himself at the applauding table beneath a banner of a green and silver serpent. As ‘Battley, Vasilios’ and ‘Bishop, Megan’ became the first two Ravenclaws (the second table from the left, below a banner of a blue and bronze eagle broke out into cheers), James scanned the faces of the students sitting at the Slytherin table. They looked arrogant and unfriendly.

“Black, Sirius!”

As Sirius sauntered forward and sat comfortably down on the stool, James noticed that Dumbledore seemed to be taking a particular interest in his sorting. Professor McGonagall placed the hat on his head, but oddly, the hat did not call out his house right away, as it had done for the three students before him. The confident smirk on Sirius’s face was suddenly gone, and now he was looking determined, maybe even a little bit mutinous. Tense minutes ticked by, but finally, the hat’s voice filled the hall once more.

“GRYFFINDOR!”

Sirius’s face blossomed with pure delight, and the Gryffindor table (on the far left) exploded with raucous clapping, cheers and whistles. After handing the hat back to Professor McGonagall, who looked very proud, Sirius smoothed his hair, reassumed his confident stance, and seated himself at the Gryffindor table beneath a banner of a red and gold lion. He gave James a thumbs-up as a tall black boy with an earring patted him on the back.

A strange change had come over the Slytherin table. Many of them were muttering to each other in hushed voices. Some of them even looked furious. In particular, James recognized Lucius Malfoy at the end, his glinting eyes narrowed to slits. There was a silver and green prefect’s badge gleaming on his chest.

Despite the upset, the Sorting Ceremony continued, and the hat declared ‘Brocklehurst, Dalton’ a Hufflepuff. He joined the friendly looking crowd at the table second from the right, below a yellow and black badger. As other students came forward to receive their house assignments, the novelty of the Sorting Ceremony began to wear off for James. Soon, his mind wandered, and as ‘DeLauney, Gwendolyn’ joined the Gryffindor table, his thoughts turned to how hungry he was. The sweets he and Sirius bought on the train were not enough to ease his growling stomach, and though he still had a pocket full of pepper imps and licorice wands, he doubted it would look good for him to begin stuffing his face in the middle of the Sorting Ceremony.

“Evans, Lily!”

James was brought back to the present as the pretty red-haired girl from the train stepped forward on trembling legs to sit upon the rickety stool. Professor McGonagall dropped the Sorting Hat onto her head, and barely a second after it touched her dark red hair, the hat cried,

“GRYFFINDOR!”

James heard a tiny groan a few feet away. It had come from Severus.

Lily took off the hat, handed it back to Professor McGonagall, then hurried toward the cheering Gryffindors, but as she went she glanced back at Severus, and there was a sad little smile on her face. Sirius moved up the bench to make room for her. She took one look at him, seemed to recognize him from the train, folded her arms, and firmly turned her back on him.

After Lily, the identical blonde girls, Casta and Polluxa Fane, were sorted into Slytherin. As far as James could tell, the only way to tell them apart was by Polluxa’s hair, because it was still a mess from her cat leaping into it. As the ceremony continued, James thought he might have recognized some of the surnames that were called (like Longbottom, MacMillan, McLaggen, and Mulciber), though only knew them from conversations overheard between his mother and father about other wizard families. 

He didn’t yet know any of the faces that went with the names.

After ‘Perks, Maddy’ was sorted into Hufflepuff, Professor McGonagall called Peter.

“Pettigrew, Peter!”

Peter edged forward, shaking from head to foot. He flinched as Professor McGonagall dropped the Sorting Hat onto his head, and after some deliberation, the hat eventually declared him a Gryffindor. Then, before James had even a moment to prepare himself, Professor McGonagall called his name.

“Potter, James!”

James’s legs turned to lead. It was as if they had forgotten what they were supposed to do.

“Potter, James?” Professor McGonagall repeated, peering over her glasses at the remaining unsorted first years. A few of the older students started laughing.

James had to very strongly will his body into action. He awkwardly staggered up to the four-legged stool and sat down hard, suddenly and painfully aware that all eyes in the hall were now upon him. As the hat fell over his dark, messy hair, a gravelly voice whispered in his ear.

“James Potter…” it said thoughtfully.

James wondered if everyone in the room could hear it speaking. Judging by their unmoved faces, they probably couldn’t.

“Your father was a Gryffindor, as was his father, and his father’s father…”

James was opening his mouth to reply, but before he could say anything out loud, his own voice rang out in his head.

“I’m a Gryffindor too.”

“Are we?” quipped the Sorting Hat. “There is certainly courage here, but I also see a sharp mind, and fierce loyalty, yes… and talent, talent indeed... You have the power to change not only yourself, but also those around you. With this kind of power to influence, you would do well in Slytherin, you know…”

James focused all of his thoughts as hard as he could on two words:

“Not Slytherin.”

The hat paused then for a long while. James wasn’t sure whether to say anything or not. Was it thinking really hard, or could it have perhaps fallen asleep? He considered taking it off and putting it back on again, but then the hat suddenly spoke again.

“I will let you in on a little secret, Potter. I can read minds yes, and reading minds is what I do, quite well if I do say so myself. 

That said, my talents go a good deal further than simply reading minds, which, sadly, are almost always simple. Let me just say, Potter, that though I have no eyes, I can see… yes, I see, and further than you might think. I will offer you something more than just the name your house, if, of course, you decide to accept that something more. Knowledge is a terrible and powerful thing, but something tells me you’re not going to shrink from that.”

James wondered for a moment if this was some kind of trick, or test.

“I accept,” he said.

The hat took another deep breath.

“Something is coming. Of that I am sure, and something tells me you’re going to be a part of it. The question, however, is who you’ll be. What part you’ll play. I see two paths ahead of you, paved by your choices, guided by the people you meet along the way. At the end of one path, I see success. I see the realization of all of your ambitions. You will thrive where others cannot. You will be powerful, great and powerful, yes...”

James envisioned himself, a mighty sorcerer receiving the Order of Merlin, First Class. No, not Merlin First Class — they were naming a new Order after him. He was tall, and handsome — the youngest Minister of Magic in all of history. The picture was tantalizingly exciting at first, as if no dream was too big and nothing was beyond his reach, but the feeling began to slowly melt away. It was as if James had peeled back a layer and found that there was nothing underneath. It was all hollow, and artificial. 

Something was missing.

“Ah, yes…” the hat said quietly. “You have discovered it. There would be one desire unattainable, one void that despite all of your success, you would never be able to fill. That is the price you would have to pay, should you accept the path to greatness that begins at Slytherin House.”

“What is the void?” James asked.

“Not even I, while probing the depths of your mind with my magic, can tell you that,” the hat replied stiffly. “It is something you must either leave behind for your ambitions to power and success, or choose to discover at a cost. It is a choice that you will need to make somewhere that I cannot see.”

James felt very dizzy, as if the room around him was no longer stationary. The hall full of students before him seemed to surge. From the chaos, he could pick out only one thing that was steady — a pair of dazzling green eyes that were looking up at him from the Gryffindor table with curiosity and interest. James’s heart made the decision before his head knew what was happening.

“I choose Gryffindor.”

“GRYFFINDOR!”

The hat’s words echoed around the Hall. James handed the hat back to Professor McGonagall as the red and gold table erupted with applause. Sirius was standing on the bench, whooping and cheering with the others, but Lily was facing away again. James returned Sirius’s grin, and hastily took a seat next to Peter at the front end of the table.

“How long was the hat on my head?” he asked Peter, wondering if he had held up the ceremony for as long as Sirius.

Peter frowned.

“What are you talking about? It said ‘Gryffindor’ almost as soon as the hat touched your head!”

“What?” James asked, now feeling very confused. The conversation with the hat felt like it had taken longer than that. “How long were you talking to the hat? It took at least half a minute to decide where to put you.”

Peter shrugged.

“It was about that long. It didn’t say much at all. I think it must not have thought I had any good qualities… in the end it just ended up asking me what I wanted. Sirius was in Gryffindor, and I was sure you would go where he did, so I asked for Gryffindor too.”

James wondered if his nervousness might have made the seconds seem longer than they were. The whole conversation with the Sorting Hat did happen, didn’t it?

After the Q’s and R’s, one more familiar name echoed through the hall.

“Snape, Severus!”

As Severus stepped forward, he glanced almost apologetically to Lily, and sat on the stool. As the hat touched his head, it cried,

“SLYTHERIN!”

Severus moved off to the other side of the Hall, away from Lily, to where the Slytherins were cheering him. Malfoy patted him on the back, but it seemed that Severus did not share his enthusiasm. His dark eyes were still on Lily across the hall.

As soon as the rest of the first years were properly sorted into their houses (ending with ‘Wood, Emma’), Dumbledore stood, his midnight blue robes sliding gracefully to the floor. He spoke, and his voice was clear and powerful.

“To all of the first years, welcome to Hogwarts. To all of our returning students, welcome back. Before we dig into our bountiful feast, I have a few announcements. The first is that the western stair of the Astronomy Tower is now reopen, as it has been repaired from last year’s unfortunate dueling incident. I would like to remind you, however, that the Forbidden Forest is still strictly off limits to all students, unless accompanied by a teacher.

“Secondly, Quidditch tryouts will be held this Saturday at ten o’clock in the morning for Gryffindor and Slytherin Houses.   
Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw Houses will be holding theirs on the following Saturday morning at the same time. I wish you all good luck. Lastly, I would like to recognize two new staff appointments. As Ogg, our Keeper of Keys and Grounds has retired, his assistant, Mr. Rubeus Hagrid, will be replacing him.”

There was hearty applause from all of the tables except Slytherin. Though most of the staff members applauded too, a few of them looked uncertain. Hagrid, not seeming to notice, blushed crimson and waved merrily from his place next to Professor McGonagall.

“In addition,” continued Dumbledore, “As there is once again an opening for our Defense Against the Dark Arts teaching position, I would like to introduce Mr. Edrian Turnbill.”

A tall, handsome man with wavy brown hair that reached to his shoulders acknowledged the student body on Professor McGonagall’s right. He was surprisingly young. He looked like he might be in his mid to late twenties. His skin was deeply tanned, his chin was stubbled, and James even noticed a pair of worn out old hiking boots protruding from his chocolate colored robes beneath the table. As he held up his hand in greeting, his sleeve fell away to reveal a tattoo on his arm, but James couldn’t see what it was from where he was sitting. Dumbledore held his hands up to quiet the room once again.

“At present, I believe there is nothing left to say, except… Befuddle! Lumpkin! Dither! Blip!”

Platters of roast chicken, smoked ham, and other delicious foods appeared on the tables, to the gasps of delight from the first years. James helped himself to mashed potatoes with gravy and tried to catch Lily’s eye. She was a few heads down the table from him, and seemed determined not to look at him. Instead, she chatted animatedly with the other girls around her. James easily remembered the name of the girl on her left, whose long blonde hair almost reached the floor (Gwendolyn DeLauney), and the square-jawed brunette on her other side (Mary MacDonald), but it took him a moment to remember the name of the kind looking round-faced girl who sat across (Alice Minke). Alice whispered something over the table, and Lily laughed, her green eyes catching the candlelight.

The boy across from James spoke suddenly.

“You’re drowning your potatoes, mate.”

James looked down and realized that he was flooding his plate with gravy.

“Oh, er… thanks,” he said, quickly mopping it up. He looked up at the boy, and almost recoiled at what he saw. Though he had seen the light brown-haired boy get sorted, he had not noticed him in detail until now. His skin was pale and sickly looking, with deep scars all over his face and arms.

After some strained silence, the boy spoke again.

“I’m Remus Lupin. I suppose we’ll be having class together…”

“I’m James Potter, and this is Peter…” James said, but he found it difficult to tear his eyes from Remus’s scars. Next to him, Peter was also staring, and each of his eyes was almost as big as the dinner plate in front of him.

Seeming to understand, Remus gestured to his face light heartedly.

“My father keeps blast-ended skrewts. They can be quite a handful when they reach full size, but their dung is useful in potion making.”

He waited then, as if giving them a moment to decide whether or not they could be friends. His face was hopeful, but anxious. Peter glanced sideways at James, his expression clearly asking whether or not it was safe to talk to him, but James immediately decided that he liked Remus. He rolled up the left sleeve of his robe, revealing a large scar on the back of his own elbow.

“A Cornish pixie got me when I was visiting my Aunt Kathy’s house, but I like to tell people it was an Acromantula that did it.”

Remus brightened with relief, and Peter, following James’s lead, relaxed too. After that, the three of them talked about everything from magical beasts to Quidditch before the sounds of knives and forks on plates finally died down. The older students began trailing out of the hall. At first James wasn’t sure whether or not he should try to follow them, but then the boy with the earring next to Sirius stood up and announced in a deep voice, “First year Gryffindors, come with me, please.”

James introduced Remus to Sirius, and together, they followed the boy out of the hall. He seemed to be well liked. Many students were greeting him and clapping him on the shoulder as he passed.

“His name is Kingsley Shacklebolt. He’s a sixth year, and a prefect,” Sirius explained.

Kingsley led them out of the Entrance Hall, up a large marble staircase, and into a larger stairwell lined with hundreds of moving portraits. He called loudly over his shoulder to the group.

“Keep an eye on the staircases when you’re in the main stairwell. They like to move, especially if you’re late for class.”

As if to prove his point, as they moved up to the second flight, the first slid away just in time to carry Peter, who was lagging behind at the end of the group, away shrieking. Reacting as if this kind of thing happened often, Kingsley waved his wand.

“Accio shrieking first year!”

Peter zoomed up to the head of the line next to him.

“It’s best to leave for your classes early,” he said, “just in case these stairs, or any other objects or inhabitants in the castle for that matter, decide to slow you down.”

“Other inhabitants?” Sirius mouthed at James.

“Other objects?” James mouthed back, wondering if at any moment a rug might pull out from under his feet.

Kingsley led them down corridors, through doorways, and behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. Some of the passages were hidden so cleverly behind columns and statues that James would never have even known they were there. After what felt like ages, they turned down a long avenue on the seventh floor. At the very end, they arrived at a large painting of a rather fat lady in a pink silk dress. Kingsley waved kindly at her, and she giggled coquettishly.

“This is the portrait that leads to our common room. It requires a password to get in, no matter what time of day or night. The password usually changes by the week, and is never written down — it passes only by word of mouth. This week, the password is ‘pickled mandrake’!”

The portrait swung open, and they crossed into the common room, which was full of squashy armchairs by cozy fireplaces. Kingsley indicated two stairwells on either side of the room.

“Girls dormitories are on the left, boys are on the right. Your things should already be in your rooms. Breakfast tomorrow morning begins at seven-thirty. Class schedules will be handed out at that time. Your first class will begin at nine.”

James followed Sirius, Remus, and Peter up the stairs to the right and entered the first dorm on the left. Five four-poster beds were arranged around the room, with trunks at the foot of each and a large stove heater in the middle. James found his trunk at the foot of the bed near the window. Remus flopped down on the bed to his left, and Sirius began spell-o-taping magazine pictures of motorbikes on the wall near his bed by the door. Peter’s bed was on the other side of James, and on Peter’s other side, the sleek-haired boy unpacking his things introduced himself with a friendly smile as Frank Longbottom.

After they settled in, it wasn’t long before they changed into their pajamas and went to bed. James gratefully placed his glasses on the bedside table and climbed into his soft four-poster, drawing his red velvet curtains closed behind him. As he lay in the dark with his eyes shut, he almost couldn’t quite believe that it was all actually happening. In the morning, he would begin learning real magic.

Just to make sure one last time that everything was truly real, and that he wasn’t just lying in his room at home in Godric’s Hollow, James crawled forward onto his stomach and peeked through the curtains at the foot of his bed. The lamps were all extinguished, and now the only light in the room was coming from the faint coals in the stove heater.

“Psst — James!”

Without his glasses on it was hard to tell, but James could just make out Sirius’s face across the room, poking out from between the curtains of his bed.

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad we’re in Gryffindor together.”

James grinned.

“Me too.”

Sirius’s face disappeared, and James withdrew and closed his curtains. As he curled up under the soft, downy blankets, his thoughts strayed to the pretty red-haired girl he knew was sleeping just on the other side of Gryffindor Tower. Secretly, he was very glad that he and Lily were in Gryffindor together, too.


	4. The Marked Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MURDER OF FORMER HOGWARTS TEACHER
> 
> The body of former Hogwarts professor Anna Meezerly was discovered in her Cornwall home last night. A victim of the Killing Curse, the Dark Mark was summoned above her home shortly after her death, an indication that a certain individual and his followers have claimed responsibility for the crime. The group last issued the Dark Mark in July, after the murder of famous seer Cassandra Trelawney. Anonymous sources say that the macabre symbol also appears on the left forearms of that certain someone’s servants, who are rumored to be called “Death Eaters.”

James awoke the next morning to a dull thudding sound. Sitting upright and putting his glasses on, he wondered if he had imagined it. Thud – there it was again.

He pulled back the curtains of his bed to see Remus’s sleepy face contemplating the same noise. Frank and Peter must have already gone down to breakfast, because their beds were empty, but Sirius’s curtains were still shut. Thud.  
“What is it?” yawned Remus.

James jumped out of bed and into his clothes, nearly tripping over a loose floorboard as he hurried out of the dormitory. The thudding noise seemed to be coming from out in the common room. As he descended the stairs, he heard it again even louder.

SLAM.

One of the squashy armchairs soared through the air and nearly missed him, smashing heavily into the wall.

“Ickle firsties! Wakie wakie, eggs and bakey!”

A little man wearing a jingling hat, outlandish clothes, and a garish orange bowtie floated in the center of the common room. He lifted another squashy armchair and threw it at the wall, and James ducked deftly out of the way as it smashed into the stone, splintering in all directions. Remus came pummeling down the stairs, closely followed by an extremely exhausted and irritable looking Sirius.

“How many more of you are hiding up there?” the little man cackled. “Ickle firsties out of bed, or you’ll be bumped right on the head…”

“Peeves, get out of here or I’ll call the Bloody Baron!”

Kingsley had just climbed in through the portrait hole.

“All right Mr. Perfect Prefect… I’ll grant your wish this time.” Snorting with laughter, the poltergeist zoomed out directly through the wall.

“Don’t mind Peeves,” Kingsley said reassuringly, repairing the broken furniture and returning them to their original places. “He does this to everyone. If he comes back, just ask Nearly Headless Nick to get the Bloody Baron.”

“Nearly Headless Nick?” Sirius asked, looking slightly horrorstruck.

“Yes,” Kingsley replied. “He’s the Gryffindor ghost. Tall, thin, head hanging off by a thread. It’s hard to miss him. Anyway, you three had better get down to breakfast. Professor McGonagall is handing out your class schedules. It wouldn’t be a good idea for you to be late to your first class — especially if it’s hers.”

“Thanks Kingsley!”

Remus led the way out of the portrait hole, through the corridors, and down seven flights of temperamental stairs to the Great Hall. James was grateful that he remembered how to get there, because if it were up to him, he might not have found it until lunchtime. Peter, who was already seated at the end of the Gryffindor table by himself, waved them over, nearly overturning his goblet of orange juice.

“Hey guys, over here!”

James, Remus, and Sirius took seats around him, helping themselves to what was left of breakfast.

“Did you get your schedule yet?” Sirius asked thickly through a mouthful of toast.

“Not yet,” Peter answered.

James helped himself to bacon and glanced down along the table. Not far away, Frank was sitting with Alice. The two appeared to already know each other well. A little further down the table, Lily was eating breakfast with Mary and Gwen. Gwen’s eyes flicked toward a handsome, older boy sitting near them, possibly a third year. She said something to the others, and they broke into fits of giggles. Girls laughed at the silliest things, but Lily had a pretty smile.

“James.”

“Huh?”

“What do you think?”

“What do I think of what?”

Remus sighed, though it was clear he was amused by James’s distraction.

“Which house do you think we’ll have lessons with?”

“Oh,” replied James. “I don’t know. I guess we’ll find out in a moment.”

He had just spotted Professor McGonagall descending upon them with small squares of parchment in hand.

“Here are your schedules,” she said, passing them out. “I will see you at nine o’ clock.” She bustled off to finish handing out the rest.

Sirius groaned.

“How did I know?”

He thrust out the schedule. Even at a glance James could already see – the vast majority of their classes were shared with Slytherin. Remus’s brows pulled down into a frown.

“We have Astronomy at midnight. I didn’t know there were nighttime classes at Hogwarts…”

He was interrupted by a great commotion above. Hundreds of owls were streaming into the Great Hall from an opening in the ceiling in a blur of brown, white and grey. They swooped low over the heads of the students and staff, dropping off letters and packages into outstretched hands.

A small tawny owl landed in front of Remus to deliver a Daily Prophet. He tucked it into his bag and handed over a small bronze knut. Just as that owl departed, a large white one arrived, swinging low over Sirius’s head to drop a red, square envelope onto his plate. James recognized what it was right away. Other students must have too, because they were now leaping out of their seats and backing away. Sirius’s eyes widened with amusement.

“Oh, this is going to be rich…”

“Sirius, that’s a howler!” shrieked Peter.

“I know,” said Sirius, seemingly without concern.

“Who’s it from?” James asked.

Smoke was starting to issue from the corners of the envelope. Further down the table, Lily looked confused, but Mary leaned over and explained it to her. James realized that she must not have been wizard raised.

“I think I know exactly who it’s from,” Sirius said delightedly. He fumbled to open the letter as quickly as he could. Instead of reading it, he placed it grandly on the center of the table like a holiday centerpiece. He adjusted it minutely, as if to get it situated perfectly, but then, the booming, magically amplified voice of Walburga Black filled the Great Hall.

“SIRIUS ORION BLACK!”

All activity in the Great Hall ceased. Even Severus, who had his nose in his potions book over at the Slytherin table, paused to listen. Peter dove under the table. Sirius didn’t look in the least bit bothered. Quite the contrary, he looked positively thrilled. The booming voice continued.

“HOW COULD YOU LET THIS HAPPEN TO OUR FAMILY, YOU SHAMEFUL, UNGRATEFUL BOY?! CHOOSING TO JOIN FILTHY, VILE, HALF BREEDS AND MUGGLE-BORNS?”

Lily suddenly looked close to tears. James couldn’t believe what he was hearing. What kind of family did Sirius come from?

“YOUR FATHER IS CONSIDERING DISOWNING YOU! YOUR BROTHER WOULD NEVER COMMIT SUCH A FOUL CRIME AGAINST OUR FOREFATHERS, AGAINST THE ANCIENT, NOBLE, PURE-BLOODED HOUSE OF BLACK!”

Remus’s jaw was agape.

“DISHONOR! INSUBOORDINATION!” the voice continued. “YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF! IF YOU HAVE ANY DIGNITY, YOU WILL SEE THE HEADMASTER AND REQUEST A CHANGE OF HOUSE RIGHT THIS INSTANT. IF YOU DON’T HAVE THE COURAGE, MR. GRYFFINDOR, THEN I SUGGEST YOU PACK YOUR BAGS AND BOARD THE NEXT TRAIN HOME!”

With that, the letter blew a raspberry in Sirius’s face, and it tore itself to shreds that fell like confetti into what was left of his breakfast. Sirius beamed amicably, as if nothing in the world could give him more satisfaction.

“It’s always music to my ears to hear her go on and on,” he sighed.

Helping Peter climb out from under the table, James glanced up to where Lily had been sitting. She was gone.

Sirius finally seemed to register that everyone in the Great Hall was staring at him.

“Just wanted to make sure everyone was awake! Who’s in the mood for learning!?”

 

With a confident grin, he drained the rest of his orange juice.

At nine o’ clock, the first year Gryffindors and Slytherins trooped into the Transfiguration classroom on the second floor. James,   
Sirius, Remus, and Peter seated themselves in the back row. Sirius sniggered.

“Hey, look who’s coming.”

Severus had just entered the classroom, his hooked nose protruding from between sheets of greasy black hair.

“Hello there, Snivellus,” Sirius said haughtily.

Severus sneered at him.

“Black… did you get a letter from Mummy this morning?”

“Yes, couldn’t you tell how absolutely delighted she was that I’m not consorting with grease balls like you?”

James and Peter laughed, along with a few students nearby. Remus fumbled for his Daily Prophet.

Severus’s dark eyes narrowed. They burned with loathing before he leaned dangerously close to Sirius.

“You and your little friends think you’re so clever,” he hissed. “You’ll get yourselves expelled before you even learn levitation charms… and tell your friend Potter here that he can stare at Lily Evans all he wants, but she’d rather milk an erumpet than hang out with him. She knows a real wizard when she sees one.”

Before James had time to wonder what an erumpet was, Severus swept away to sit with Lily. Sirius glanced questioningly at James.

“I don’t know what he’s —” James began, but he was saved by Professor McGonagall, who entered the classroom looking pale and mildly shaken. Remus pulled his note-taking parchment down low over the Prophet.

“Welcome to Transfiguration.” She waved her wand and expertly transformed the lamp on her desk into a flamingo. The flamingo squawked in astonishment at finding that it was no longer a lamp, leapt from the desk, and ran for the door, where it escaped into the castle beyond. James wondered if this kind of thing happened frequently at Hogwarts.

 

“I will waste no time at all to warn you that Transfiguration is among the most difficult but important subjects you will be studying here at Hogwarts. If it is tampered or fooled with, the results can be disastrous — even fatal. As such, I will tolerate no horseplay or tomfoolery in this classroom.”

Severus shot a look at Sirius and James, clearly daring them to test Professor McGonagall’s patience.

“Today,” she continued, “We will be learning a simple Color-Changing Spell.”

She flicked her wand, and the word ‘Colorocambium’ appeared on the board. Then, the same word appeared phonetically below it. The students copied both into their notes.

“Repeat after me: Colorocambium.”

“Colorocambium,” murmured the class.

Professor McGonagall nodded.

“Good. Be sure to say it firmly, like you mean it. Now, you will soon learn that spells are characterized by various wand movements. The simple Color-Changing Spell requires only that your wand is pointed at the object you wish to change the color of. The tricky part, however, is to focus your mind on the color you choose.”

She pointed her wand at the blackboard.

“Colorocambium,” she said clearly.

It changed from black to aqua-marine.

“You will each take a strawberry from the basket on my desk, and attempt to turn it this color. I will award ten house points to the first student to successfully make his or her strawberry match the blackboard.”

There was much scuffling and scraping as everyone hurried forward to take a strawberry. Remus got up and brought back four.

“Colorocambium!” he shouted at his strawberry. Nothing happened. “Oops, I forgot to focus on the color…”  
Peter was eyeing his strawberry hungrily.

Other students around the room were poking or jabbing at their strawberries, mispronouncing the spell, or otherwise not concentrating hard enough. Severus pointed his wand at the strawberry in front of him, but to his confusion, it turned a sickly green color. James looked sideways and saw that Sirius’s wand was aimed at Severus’s strawberry instead of his own.

“What!” he laughed defensively. “I was just having a little fun with our new friend.”

“Did you actually choose that color?” James asked, impressed.

“Yeah, I figured it was a nice reflection of his skin tone.”

“If you can do the spell, do it properly on your own strawberry and get us some house points!” James urged him.

Sirius smoothed his bangs out of his eyes and directed the tip of his wand at his own strawberry.

“Colorocambium,” he said lazily.

The strawberry turned the exact shade of aqua-marine as the chalkboard. Realizing that he had not even attempted the spell yet for himself, James decided to try his luck too. To his delight, his strawberry successfully matched Sirius’s.

Professor McGonagall swept over them, beaming proudly.

“Fantastic spell work, boys! That may have been the fastest that any of my students mastered a Color-Changing Spell. Ten points to Gryffindor! If you feel adventurous, you may attempt the spell on other objects around the room.”

James could tell that she was inwardly delighted that students from her own house had received the points. Severus spun around, his face full of fury. Even Peter looked a little envious. James, remembering that Mr. Ollivander had said his wand was good for Transfiguration, couldn’t help but be pleased with himself.

Sirius was already pointing his wand around the room, turning parchment violet, stuffed owls red, and James’s robes from black to sunny yellow. Soon, other students caught up. Frank Longbottom’s strawberry was only a shade away from aqua-marine, and Remus, after a few more botched attempts, made his match the board. Once Lily managed to perform the spell, she tried to help Mary, Gwen, and Severus. Judging by the looks on Mary and Gwen’s faces, they were not happy that Severus was joining them.  
Peter was still struggling with the spell. He was getting more and more agitated, and his strawberry had begun to swell in proportion to his frustration. It grew to the size of a watermelon before Remus intervened.

“Peter, you don’t need to move your wand at all. Just hold it still, like this.”

He showed Peter the proper way to do it. James was going to make a suggestion, but then he was distracted by something moving beneath the parchment that contained Remus’s scribbled class notes. He tugged it out and discovered that it was a photograph in the Daily Prophet. On the front page, just like he had seen in the Prophet on his kitchen table back in July, a glittering skull was printed with a serpent of smoke issuing from its mouth.

“That’s the Dark Mark,” Sirius said in a voice low enough that nobody could overhear.

“The what?”

“The Dark Mark. I heard my parents talking about it before I left for Hogwarts. It’s the sign that the Dark Lord and his followers put up in the sky, right after they kill someone.”

James felt stupid. He hadn’t heard much of anything about this Dark Lord.

“Who is he? What does he want?”

Sirius looked amazed that James didn’t know more about it.

“His name is…”

He glanced around to make sure no one was listening before continuing at a very low whisper.

“His name is Voldemort, but a lot of people are scared of saying his name.”

James remembered his father talking about a dark wizard the day he got his letter. He hadn’t mentioned the Dark Lord’s name, but James found it difficult to believe that his dad could be afraid of anything.

“He hates Muggles,” Sirius continued, “and Muggle-borns. He thinks we should get rid of the whole lot of them.”

“Do your parents agree with that?”

“Couldn’t you tell by my letter is morning?”

James felt his stomach tighten.

“Do you agree with that?”

Sirius rolled his eyes.

“Couldn’t you tell by how happy I was to be in Gryffindor?”

Feeling better, James scanned the article below the picture in the Prophet.

MURDER OF FORMER HOGWARTS TEACHER

The body of former Hogwarts professor Anna Meezerly was discovered in her Cornwall home last night. A victim of the Killing Curse, the Dark Mark was summoned above her home shortly after her death, an indication that a certain individual and his followers have claimed responsibility for the crime. The group last issued the Dark Mark in July, after the murder of famous seer Cassandra Trelawney. Anonymous sources say that the macabre symbol also appears on the left forearms of that certain someone’s servants, who are rumored to be called “Death Eaters.”

Anna Meezerly taught Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, and was very well liked by her students and fellow members of staff. Her contributions to the study of dark magical artifacts were invaluable to the magical community, page 4, inside.  
James was amazed he hadn’t heard more about this. Now he knew why Professor McGonagall looked so shaken. Sirius, who had also just finished reading the article, chewed the tip of his wand in contemplation.

“Why would they kill Anna Meezerly? The Meezerly family is pure-blooded. She had to have done something that offended them…”

Their thoughts were interrupted when the newspaper they were reading burst into a loud shade of orange. Peter, with Remus’s help, had finally learned the Color-Changing Spell.

After Transfiguration was Charms. The pint sized professor, who had to stand on a pile of books to be seen, introduced himself as Professor Flitwick, the head of Ravenclaw house. After a lesson on levitation spells, James and Sirius were frustrated to find that Charms did not come as easily to them as Transfiguration did. James felt a little better though when he saw that Severus was struggling as much as he was. Lily, on the other hand, found that she was particularly adept at Charms. As soon as Professor Flitwick told the class to attempt the levitation charm for themselves, with a swish and flick of her wand, Lily’s feather was zooming around the ceiling before any other student could so much as make his or hers hover. She looked pleasantly surprised with herself.

After Charms was Herbology. The warm air still smelled like summer as the first year Gryffindors and Slytherins set out across the open grounds on their way to the greenhouses. Just as they were passing by the shore of the lake, a group of sixth year Slytherins returning to the castle came past them in the other direction. At the front, strutting like a prince, was Lucius Malfoy. His badge caught the late morning light like a green and silver jewel. James wondered if he stayed up at night polishing it.

“Lucius, why did they plant it? It wasn’t there last year,” one Slytherin asked him.

“I haven’t the slightest idea what the point of the thing is, but if you ask me it’s an eyesore,” he drawled. “My father will be disgusted by what they’ve done to this place.”

A delicately beautiful but conceited looking girl with blonde hair and blue eyes was clutching his arm. She looked down her nose at James as they passed.

Remus’s brow furrowed without comment, but Sirius watched them go before turning to James.

“That girl on Malfoy’s arm was my cousin, Narcissa Black.”

“She looked friendly,” James commented sarcastically. Sirius laughed.

“You know how warm my family is.”

They arrived outside the double doors of Greenhouse One. A tall wizard with the sleeves of his robes rolled up and his hair back in a ponytail greeted them there, and introduced himself as Caradoc Dearborn, the head of Hufflepuff. As he dove into a long and boring orientation on the greenhouse and the plants inside, Sirius struck up a game of trying to toss Devil’s Snare seeds into the hood of Severus’s robe. James had to bite his tongue not to laugh out loud whenever one missed and hit him in the back of the head (Severus would look around, but never could figure out where they were coming from). At first Remus tried to encourage them to pay attention, but he had to give up when Peter, who was standing right behind him, began sneezing uncontrollably on the back of his head. It turned out that Peter was allergic to almost every plant in the room.

After the orientation, they hurried back inside the castle to meet the History of Magic teacher, a very old, wheezy ghost named Professor Binns. Being a ghost, he was unable to pick up the piece of parchment that had the class roster on it, so he began by having each student introduce his or herself. It took the entire period, because Professor Binns turned out to be very hard of hearing, and he couldn’t figure out how to pronounce anyone’s name correctly. In particular, he went back and forth for five minutes with Remus, offering back names like “poop-chin,” and “droop-skin.”

At noon, they all sat down to lunch in the Great Hall and discussed the morning’s lessons. After a short break, it was time for potions. The temperature dropped steadily, along with the amount of light as the first year Gryffindors and Slytherins trooped down to the dungeons, toting their cauldrons, potion kits, and books.

Outside of the Potions classroom, a short, round-bellied man with an enormous walrus-like mustache introduced himself as Horace Slughorn. He ushered them into a classroom lined with stone tables and benches. As he pivoted on the balls of his feet to face the class, the gold buttons on his waistcoat looked threateningly close to popping.

“Today, we will begin with an aging potion. Nothing too strong mind you, just strong enough that it would make you perhaps two or three days older than you are now. The ingredients and directions are on the blackboard, as well as page sixteen of your textbooks. Please be sure to measure just the right amount of bundimun, or some of you may sprout some rather nasty body hair.”

Students began measuring out the green fungus with their brass scales while Slughorn paced the rows, supervising and occasionally commenting.

“That’s far too much athelas, Casta. Just two or three roots will do. Karl, hold your knife properly, it’s not a rapier! You there, what on earth are you doing?”

Severus froze, in the middle of pulverizing a dark green fungus.

“Son, it doesn’t say to crush the bundimun in my directions, or in the book.”

“Sorry, sir.” Severus made to throw the bundimun away, but when Slughorn turned his back to speak to Frank, he covertly dropped it into his cauldron, and the contents shifted to a rich royal blue color. He bent low over his book with a quill and scribbled notes in the margin.

Slughorn came to stand over Lily’s cauldron, just two rows ahead of James.

“What is your name, my dear?”

“Lily Evans,” she replied, dropping the bundimun she had just weighed into her cauldron. It also deepened to a royal blue, although less vibrant than Severus’s.

“You are a fine potioneer. Do you happen to be related to Garrick Evans, the inventor of the time-turner?”

“No sir, at least, I don’t think I am. You see, I’m Muggle-born.”

Slughorn’s eyes popped slightly with shock.

“Well then. Good work Lily, I’m curious to see what else you can do.” Then, catching James off guard, he sauntered over to them.

“Sirius Black, I’ve had all of the Black family members that came through Hogwarts in Slytherin House with the exception of you, bit of a shame isn’t it? At any rate, I knew your father, Orion. Great potions master, descended from Proditus Black, inventor of the Polyjuice Potion. It’s too bad your father did not pursue potions making after he left Hogwarts.”

Sirius forced a smile and dropped a fistful of bundimun into his smoking cauldron. The contents turned black, giving off the faint odor of burning hair. Peter took a step away toward Remus, who was reading his Astronomy book while absent-mindedly stirring the light blue contents of his cauldron. Slughorn’s face fell at the bubbling black mess in front of Sirius. He took a look at James and the purple slop in front of him, and without saying another word, strode off to talk to two Slytherins with chocolate brown hair and porcelain skin.

“They’re Van Vlecks.” Sirius muttered to James. “They come from another pure-blood family. Those are the twins — Dorian and Neysa. Primus, Anicetus and Aelia play on the Slytherin Quidditch team. They also have a little sister named Persephone, but she won’t come to Hogwarts for another two or three years.”

“How do you know all this stuff?” James asked.

Sirius shrugged.

“Pure-blood families know other pure-blood families,” he answered simply. “My mother was hoping I would grow up and marry Neysa, but I think maybe she knows me better by now.”

By the end of the class, only two students managed to make the potion correctly: Lily, and much to Slughorn’s surprise, Severus.

 

“Interesting bloke, Slughorn,” James commented as he, Sirius, Remus, and Peter hurried back up the dungeon steps to the warm ground floor.

“Professor Slughorn plays favorites,” Sirius said, his nose wrinkled in disgust. “My dad used to be in his little ‘Slug Club.’ He has a knack for finding students that are well connected and talented, and then throws little tea parties to make sure they remember him when they become rich and successful.”

“I wonder what Professor Turnbill is like,” said Peter.

“We’re about to see,” James pointed out.

They joined the queue of students outside of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, where everyone was excitedly buzzing about Professor Turnbill.

“I hear he travels all around the world with his brother, finding treasure for the Ministry,” Frank was telling Alice.

Nearby, Gwen was talking to Casta and Polluxa Fane, the identical blonde Slytherin sisters. They also looked identically ditzy, twirling their hair absently while chewing their Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum. Today their hair was styled exactly the same, so James couldn’t even begin to guess at which sister was which.

“He told the sixth years about lethifolds,” Gwen was saying. “He even showed them pictures he took of one in Borneo!”

“Wow, leatherfolds…” said one of the sisters spacily.

“Yeah, I think I read about those in Teen Witch,” added the other sister. “They’re all the rage in Japan right now.”  
Just then, the door opened, and Professor Turnbill stepped out. Clad in forest green robes that draped gracefully over his lean frame, he was still wearing the same hiking boots from the evening before.

“That’s lethifolds, Casta.” He gave her a friendly smile. “And they’re not an exotic type of clothing either, Polluxa. They’re dark creatures that can smother you in your sleep, and digest you without leaving a trace behind.”

As the gum fell out of Casta and Polluxa’s gaping mouths, he turned to Gwen.

“And that’s right Gwen, I did lecture the older students on dark beasts today. Your sister must have told you. Unfortunately, lethifolds are not a part of the first year curriculum.”

There was a collective groan from the group.

“Not to worry, not to worry,” Turnbill laughed, waving them inside, “we have an exciting list of our own topics to learn about this year.”

The students filed into the classroom and took seats, gazing in wonder at all of the moving photographs on the walls. Most of them depicted Professor Turnbill’s travels around the world. James and the others sat near the wall at the back of the classroom, next to a photo of Professor Turnbill posing with what looked like a South American tribe. He was holding a gold statue of an eagle.

“Looks like he gets around, doesn’t he?” Sirius commented.

Once everyone was seated, Professor Turnbill strode to the front of the room to face the students, his eyes bright and keen.

“Dumbledore has kindly already introduced me, but for those of you who, like me, suffer from a bad memory for names, I am Edrian Turnbill. As you may have guessed, I am a seeker and collector of rare historical artifacts, and I specialize in the identification of items concealing dark magic.”

Just then, the door at the back of the classroom opened, and Lily and Severus entered. Turnbill waved them in, frowning.

“Because this is the first class, I’ll let this go, but normally I do not tolerate late students.”

“Please, sir.” Lily hurried forward and handed him a note. “Professor Slughorn asked us to stay for a moment after potions. It won’t happen again.”

Turnbill quickly read the note.

“All right. Please take a seat in the back.”

The only seats open in the back were the one next to Sirius, and the one between Mary and Gwen, which Lily promptly took. 

Looking as if he would rather gouge out his eyes with a hot poker, Severus grudgingly dropped his bag and sat down next to Sirius, who looked equally as disgusted.

“Though I should warn you that there will be days when we’ll only be taking notes, today we’re going to have a practical lesson to get to know each other.” Turnbill motioned to a pile of items in front of his desk that looked like normal Muggle junk. There were old trainers, watering cans, books and toys.

“There are twenty-one items here, one for each student. Of these twenty-one objects, three are cursed with concealed, dark magic.”

Peter gave a squeak of fright. Turnbill turned in his direction.

“What is your name?”

“Peter Pettigrew.”

“Well Peter,” he said reassuringly, “there is no need to worry. None of these objects will attack you. They merely contain secrets.”  
Peter sagged with relief as Turnbill waved his wand, and spells and instructions appeared on the blackboards around the room.

“There are dark magic detectors on the tables around the room. I would like for each of you to select an object, and try all of the detectors on it.” He held up what looked like an old-fashioned television aerial. “I only have one secrecy sensor, so please be gentle with it and take turns. Don’t forget, there are also spells written on the blackboards that command your object to reveal its secrets. Any questions? All right, have at it!”

Students surged forward to take items from the pile. Sirius took a baseball, and James took a dictionary that was missing quite a few pages. Remus was already performing spells on an old boot, while Peter swiped the secrecy sensor all around an ugly old teddy bear that was missing an eye. On the other side of Sirius, Severus was examining every inch of a brass necklace with an object that looked like a multi-lens magnifying glass.

“He’s interesting, Turnbill, isn’t he?” Remus asked James.

“Yeah, I want to hear more about where he goes and what he does,” James replied.

Sirius craned his neck to get a better look at him.

“Did you see that he has a tattoo on his arm at the feast?” he said. “Too bad he’s got his sleeves down, I wish I could see what it was.”

After a few minutes, Alice discovered that her candelabra was concealing dark magic. She was soon joined by a Slytherin boy named Karl Rosenblatt, whose rusty fork made the secrecy sensor go haywire. Karl put the secrecy sensor back down on the table, and just as Sirius was reaching for it, Severus snatched it away. For a moment Sirius looked like he was going to say something angry, but then he recovered his cool.

“Nice necklace, Snivellus. If you wear it, you’ll look even more like a girl than you do now…”  
James, Peter, and a number of nearby students laughed uproariously. Even Lily giggled over the old silver hairbrush in front of her.

Maybe it was because everyone was laughing, or maybe it had more to do with the fact that Lily was, but Severus’s sallow skin deepened into an ugly shade of puce. In a flash, he had his wand in his hand, aimed at Sirius’s turned back.

“Corpomorsus!”

“NO!”

James flung himself into Severus just as he uttered the hex, causing it to miss Sirius and singe the wall a few inches to his left. Casta and Polluxa Fane shrieked and leapt out of the way as they landed hard on the cold stone floor.

“Never…NEVER curse my friends when their backs are turned!” James snarled into his greasy ear.

Someone was suddenly pulling him away. Severus remained on the floor, his chest heaving with certain loathing.

“What is going on over here?” Turnbill demanded.

James trembled with rage.

“He tried to put a stinging hex on Sirius when his back was turned.”

Severus’s lip curled.

“Potter called Evans a Mudblood.”

A round of whispers and shocked gasps rippled through the room. After the moment it took her to understand that the word was a severe insult, Lily’s green eyes narrowed.

“James Potter, you are a bully and a creep, just like your friends!”

With that, she gathered up her things and moved to a table on the other side of the room. Professor Turnbill’s brow creased as he looked between Severus and James.

“I can’t allow childishness like this to disrupt my class,” he said evenly. “Ten points from each house, and both of you will receive detention. After dinner tomorrow night, in my office.”

James and Severus exchanged mutinous glances while Turnbill addressed the rest of the class.

“Back to work everyone — there’s nothing to see here.”

After the last dark item was found, a teakettle that caused one of the lenses of the magnifying glass to crack, the class was dismissed. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, James felt dreadful — not because he was sentenced to detention with Severus, but because Lily thought he had called her that horrible name.

Sirius gave him a pat on the back a few minutes later, as they traipsed back through the portrait hole and into the Gryffindor common room.

“Hey, thanks mate,” he said sincerely. “Thanks for having my back. That nasty stinging hex would have really left a mark.”

A mark. James stopped dead. Remus walked directly into him, and Peter walked directly into Remus.

“A mark… You just reminded me. The Dark Mark!” James pressed a hand to his forehead.

“Blimey James, don’t say that too loud,” warned Peter, looking around nervously.

“The Dark Mark was in the paper today, what’s that have to do with anything?” asked Remus, pulling them aside so other students could come in through the portrait hole.

“Turnbill has a tattoo doesn’t he?” James said intently, looking from one incredulous face to another. “He has a tattoo, and it’s on his left forearm. None of us know what it is. The article said V…Voldemort’s followers have a Dark Mark on their left forearm. You don’t think he could be a Death Eater, do you?”

They all looked contemplative. At last, Remus broke the silence.

“James, do you think he really would have sat at the staff table showing off his Dark Mark? Dumbledore was sitting just a few feet away. Anyone at the staff table could have seen it.”

Sirius was quick to jump to James’s defense.

“But we only saw it for a split second when he waved to everyone. For the rest of the night, his sleeve was covering it. From that angle, the only people who would have seen the tattoo were the students. Nobody at the staff table would have been able to see it!”

“Honestly, Sirius, you don’t really think Dumbledore would be dumb enough to hire a Death Eater?” Remus argued. “He’s the greatest wizard of this age!”

“Well, who knows!” Sirius said defensively. “My parents said Death Eaters are everywhere these days. They’re infiltrating pretty much every magical outfit in the country. They’re even in the Ministry of Magic now. Why wouldn’t they send someone to Hogwarts?”

“Your parents seem to know an awful lot about Death Eaters,” Remus muttered.

James bit his lip.

“Sirius,” he said slowly, trying to be as tactful as possible, “are your parents Death Eaters?”

“No!” Sirius spat, but then his defiant expression lost its intensity. He suddenly looked uncertain. “I mean, well, at least… I don’t think they are,” he said quietly. He shoved his hands in his pockets and picked at the ground with the toe of his trainer.

Remus raised his eyebrows.

“You don’t sound so sure, mate.”

Color suddenly flooded Sirius’s pale cheeks.

“Well if you couldn’t tell, Remus, my parents and I aren’t exactly close.”

Peter shifted uncomfortably. Remus seemed to realize he had crossed some kind of line. Sirius’s hand was on his wand, and his   
jaw was set so tightly it looked as if he was fighting back tears.

“Okay, that’s enough,” James said quickly, getting between the two of them. “It’s clear Sirius doesn’t know, and even if they were 

Death Eaters, he’s on our side. So it doesn’t even matter, okay?”

Without another word, Sirius stormed up the stairs to the boys dormitories.

“What was that all about?” Peter asked.

Remus watched him go.

“Maybe I should go apologize,” he said. A door slammed somewhere upstairs.

“I think he just needs some space,” said James. “Let’s just stay down here. We’ll see him at dinner.”

Classes were ending, and more students were climbing in through the portrait hole. James and Remus struck up a half-hearted game of Wizard’s Chess, but it seemed that neither of them could keep their mind in the game. James’s head was buzzing with thoughts about Turnbill and the mysterious mark on his arm. Whether Remus believed he was a Death Eater or not, James decided he would keep a much closer eye on him — starting at detention the next night.


End file.
